Quiet Contemplation
by Undomiel-Estel
Summary: Aragorn watches a sleeping Arwen


Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I just play in their world.  
  
A single candle burns on the stand beside our bed. It's tiny flickering lights casts a golden glow across the pillows and her face. The black of her hair shimmers in the glow, and her pale skin still glistens with the remnants of the sweat we worked up only a short time ago. She lays bare upon the silk sheets, her lithe body luminescent, one arm propped upon the pillow beside her head, the other resting across her belly. She has only just fallen into sleep, losing herself in the dream world of the Elves. She mummers my name softly, the syllables soft as velvet from her full lips.  
  
I run my eyes down the length of her, just as I do nearly every night when she is caught unawares of my attentions. I love watching her sleep. More so than I love watching her smile or laugh. It is when she is sleeping that her face is most beautiful, serene and at peace and lost in her dreams. Even Luthien herself, said to be the fairest of all Elfmaids, could not compare to the beauty before me. By the Valar she is beautiful.  
  
I stretch out beside her, careful not to move too much lest I wake her. There is still a faint blush to her skin, a telltale sign of our earlier activities. Watching her after making love always leaves me wanting more. No matter how well sated I am afterwards, I always yearn for the next encounter, as though each time shall again be our first. I suppose it is the result of having to wait so long for that which I have always wanted the most.  
  
She stirs, rolls to her side, and a dark lock of hair falls over her shoulder and down to the bed. Reaching out, I finger the heavy curl, and marvel at the reality of it all. I never would have thought I would find myself in bed with the most beloved of the Elves. As a child, reared in Rivendell by my mother, I had seen the daughter of Elrond, though back then her presence was more of a curiosity then anything else. I was intrigued by her. I would watch as she walked through the gardens and talk happily with other maids. I would see her in the halls of her father's house, reading or stitching some small thing or another.  
  
Once, when I was thirteen, I had fallen from a tree and broken my arm. I had lain on the ground clutching the limb, willing myself not to cry and appear less brave then I desired to. Finally the pain overcame all sense of decorum, and I began to cry quietly. Before I could sense a presence, a gentle hand was placed on my throbbing shoulder. Quickly wiping the tears from my cheeks, I looked up into the face of the Evenstar. I do not remember the words of comfort she offered me while she helped me to my feet. Only that she was kind enough not to mock my childish reaction. Upon releasing me into the care of her father for healing, she had placed a light kiss upon my head. The action shocked me, and it was then that I realized Arwen would be more then just a fleeting fascination.  
  
When I was older, more a man then a child, and in Lothlorien, I saw her again. Dancing in the woods and singing. She wore a robe of pale green silk, and a single bloom of élanor twirled between her tapered fingertips. She did not see me at first, but when she did notice me, and she turned those eyes of blue upon me, I knew I would forever love her alone. She stood still as a statue, something to be revered. My heart was lost that day in the golden woods. That same season, we promised ourselves to each other.  
  
I know of the sadness that occasionally pulls at her heart. I know that there are mostly good days and sometimes bad days, when she yearns for her family and her people. She tells me she does not regret her decision to stay with me, and I believe her, though if I could I would restore all that she has released for a mortal life and see her fulfilled once more.  
  
The babe that now grows in her womb will perhaps ease the pain in her heart somewhat. She is only 2 moons with child, but as each day passes I see the excitement in her eyes grow. When she speaks with Eowyn of children, her normally hush voice has the tone of an anxious child, eager for a gift which they will soon receive. The white lady of Ithilien smiles, and urges Arwen's musings with tales of her own children. Of late, Arwen has taken to helping Eowyn tend her babes, grateful for the experience and content to bask in the glow of impending motherhood. Upon news of the heir to soon grace the long abandoned nursery of the Palace, the people of Gondor and Arnor threw celebrations in honor of the Queen. The excitement of the people has done her spirit good, I believe.  
  
Her joy fills my heart. She does not look to the west as she so often did during the beginnings of our marriage. Now she will simply sit in quiet contemplation, looking at the stars or the passing of ships on the river. She smiles at everyone and receives all visitors, be it diplomat or peasant bringing wishes of good health and cheer. She is a Queen in all senses, but above all else she rules my heart.  
  
I run a fingertip down the curve of her cheek, and she sighs in her sleep. A slight draft ushers through the window and I draw a blanket over her nude skin. She snuggles beneath the warm material, and I draw myself closer to her. I kiss her forehead and drape an arm over her, and close my eyes, content and no longer restless. 


End file.
